


Feasting Your Eyes

by eratospen



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Belly Kink, F/F, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M, Weight Gain, original male prostitute, sex is multi but relationship is f/f
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-03
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-27 15:22:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13251045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eratospen/pseuds/eratospen
Summary: For a kink meme prompt asking for Isabela stuck with the spell that turns her lust into hunger. Magical weight gain ensues.Warning: This is a Dragon Age female weight gain / belly kink story. If that doesn't sound like your thing...it probably isn't.





	Feasting Your Eyes

It was a beautiful night, the floor buzzing with activity, soft music filling the air. Men and women sat about lush couches and tables, laughing and flirting and—in a few particularly lively spots—feverishly necking. Hawke caught sight of one of the girls slyly reaching into opened trousers, her companion (a Templar, she thought) gasping and burying his face into the curve of her breasts.

The scent of musk and hunger hung heavy in the air, and the pirate by her side was all but vibrating in response, as if she were a tuning fork synched perfectly with the rhythm of pure desire.

Or something. Shit. Hawke peered into her goblet, wondering if she should slow down on the booze.

…nah. S’long as she didn’t let any of that out in a deeply tipsy ramble, she should be okay.

Isabela shivered and rocked back onto her heels, visibly restless. “Kitten,” she finally said, voice huskier than usual. “I don’t know about you, but I could use a night to let my hair down.”

Hawke glanced over at her lover, brows quirking. “Your hair is down every night, ‘Bela,” she teased. “In fact, it’s down _right now_.”

Isabela listed closer, letting their arms jostle. She was more than a little tipsy herself, though it took a vat of ale to get her truly drunk. “It could go down a _lot_ farther,” she said with a purr. “In fact,” she added, hooking a thumb into Hawke’s worn leather belt and giving a suggestive tug, “there’s nothing it’d love more than to go just as low as it can manage.”

“…I’m beginning to suspect we’re no longer talking about hair.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you’re almost as clever as Varric says you are,” Isabela cracked back, those eyes of hers dancing bright and tempting. She pressed closer, practically folding herself into Hawke’s space and arching none-too-subtly against the line of her thigh; one finger hooked into Hawke’s belt became three.

Hawke laughed, slapping at her girlfriend’s wrist. “Down, ‘Bela. We’re still in public _and_ I’m sore as all void from getting knocked on my arse earlier tonight. That pretty new jewel you’re wearing didn’t serve itself up easy.” In fact, she’d gotten stabbed _three times_ for her trouble. Thankfully Anders had been on hand to soothe over the worst of the hurt, but she was limping still.

Not that Hawke minded. The winking red jewel looked perfect nestled between her girl’s breasts, drawing envious eyes to the best rack in Kirkwall.

Isabela pretended to pout. “But I was going to let my hair down,” she said, giving the belt a sharp tug. The kiss she pressed to the arch of Hawke’s neck was nothing but sweetness, however, followed by a bit of tongue. And _teeth_. Goodness, Isabela was feisty tonight.

“Well,” Hawke said, “who am I to stop you?”

A dark brow arched as she pulled back to look up at her. “Really?”

Hawke shrugged. Isabela had always had a healthy sexual appetite, but tonight she’d been particularly voracious—nearly insatiable. Truthfully, most of the pulled muscles weren’t from that little dust-up in the caverns…but Hawke had a reputation to maintain, so she wasn’t exactly going to tell her girlfriend she was fucked out for the time being. “Why not?” she said instead, quirking her own brow right back. “We’re in the Rose, aren’t we? What better place to find a bit of fun than… _Annnnd_ she’s already gone,” she added with a laugh as Isabela all but spun away with a delighted cackle.

Hawke shook her head and leaned back against the post to watch her go, arms crossed. Isabela clearly already had someone in mind, as she made a beeline for one of the big, brawny-looking whores. Her black hair tumbled loose around her shoulders and her ample backside swayed fetchingly as she walked.

…except.

…huh.

Frowning, Hawke straightened from her indolent sprawl, watching Isabela closer as she reached the whore’s—Kevan, Hawke thought—table and leaned over in an obvious display of her assets. Isabela had always been wonderfully curvy: _more than a handful_ , Hawke liked to laugh as she grabbed that lovely arse and lost herself in tits so perfect Andraste would weep. She had the kind of figure flat-as-a-board Hawke could only wish for, hourglass shape offset by a relatively narrow waist, made narrower still by her corset.

Isabela had always had a bit of a tummy, and her thighs were wonderfully thick, and her arms weren’t exactly sticks, but she hovered squarely on curvy and only strayed toward plump when she was feeling lazy and bloated.

But tonight…

Tonight, her curvy arse all but exploded out past the bottom edge of her corset, that little flap of white cloth leaving even less to the imagination than usual. It almost seemed, from this angle, _more_ than her usual double-handful.

In fact, Hawke realized as she catalogued her lover (flirting up a storm with Kevan while no doubt negotiating the price of him and a warm bed big enough for three), her thighs seemed a little bigger than usual too, the gap between them perhaps a touch smaller. Her hips swelled out from her tucked-in waist in a more dramatic curve.

Hawke began to smirk to herself. _Someone_ was sneaking into the larder and scarfing extra rations. It was strange she hadn’t noticed it before, but she certainly was now—leaning over the table to flirt her heart out, there was no mistaking the way that white cloth struggled to cover a bigger rear.

Isabela was teetering back toward the _plump_ side of the things, it seemed. Well, that could be plenty of fun too.

_Especially with a rack like that_ , Hawke thought as Isabela straightened and turned toward her. There was no mistaking the way her breasts—always her biggest, most obvious feature—all but spilled out of the corset cups. They pressed tight together in a deep line of cleavage, in danger of tumbling free if she took too deep a breath.

Isabela waved Hawke over, and _oh yes_ , her rack shifted and swayed and seemed—if anything—to creep even closer toward indecency. If ‘Bela was going to plump up a bit now and again, she really had to start keeping some bigger clothes around or there’d be no escaping Aveline’s death glare.

Hawke waved back, indicating Isabela should go on and lead the way up. She followed at an amble, pausing to grab another ale at the bar, keeping one eye on Isabela and Kevan to make sure she saw which room they slipped into.

“Fancy a second?” the barkeep asked. “Thirsty work ahead of you tonight.” She winked.

“From your lips to the Maker’s ears,” Hawke laughed. She considered it a moment, then shrugged and tossed a few coins on the bartop. “This’ll do for now, but send a girl up with three tankards and some dinner for us all later,” she said. “If I know ‘Bela, she’ll be wanting something to raise her flag again.”

The woman whisked away the gold with a smile. “I’ll have something sent up presently,” she said before making a subtly shooing gesture. “Now off with you. Debauchery won’t take care of itself.”

Hawke lifted her full tankard in response, turning and slowly strolling across the floor and toward the back stair. Truthfully, she _was_ starting to pick up interest—the vibe of the Rose was too heady, too sensual to resist. Perhaps she’d let Kevan roll around with ‘Bela for a while first to take off the edge, but Hawke figured she’d tap in before too long.

Wouldn’t want her girlfriend to forget her, after all.

**

Isabela and Kevan were already rolling about the bed by the time Hawke made it to the room. She cast them a quick glance, smiling at the spill of Isabela’s dark hair and the flash of her bare thigh as she wrapped an eager leg around their strapping young lad. They were both still dressed, which was good—one of Hawke’s favorite parts was unwrapping her gift for the night.

That jewel winked from between Isabela’s breasts, lost in the canyon of her cleavage. Kevan groaned and pressed open-mouthed kisses along her jawline and to her throat, pink tongue swirling against dark skin. Isabela dragged her nails down the muscled wall of his back in retaliation, catching Hawke’s eye and winking.

Hawke lifted her mug in response and shut the door behind her. She ambled to the windows to look down at the streets, then peer along the rooftops, the soft gasps and creaks keeping her plenty of company as she sipped her ale. The moon rose high over the cityline, and the dark sky was scattered with silver stars winking down at her. She winked back, feeling playful, and grinned at a smack of flesh and a low, theatrical moan.

‘Bela always did know how to put on a show.

“You’re so bloody beautiful,” Kevan said, sounding like he meant it. Which, well, of course—Isabela _was_ gorgeous—but it still impressed Hawke that he managed to make it all so convincing. Usually a roll with one of the Rose employees was a wonderful way to spend the evening, but you hardly expected them to be good enough to convince you that you were the best, hottest, most desirable woman in the world. They were paid well, but not _that_ well—this wasn’t Orlais.

But Kevan had a future in the theater if his soft gasps and delighted noises were anything to go on, as if Isabela were _already_ sending him to heights of desire he’d never before experienced.

“You’re so…so… _soft_ ,” he moaned, “so _plush_ ,” and that had Hawke snickering into her ale at how well it echoed her thoughts from before. Yes, ‘Bela either needed to go on a diet or get herself some new clothes if even the whores were bold enough to comment on it.

Setting the mostly-empty tankard aside, Hawke turned back to the bed, strolling over so she could get a good view. “Did you hear that, ‘Bela?” she teased, sinking a knee onto the mattress and leaning her whippet-thin body over the silken coverlet to slip her finger into the bottom edge of Isabela’s corset and give a tug. “This nice young man’s saying you’re getting…fat. Huh.”

Hawke froze, index finger barely able to wedge beneath _ridiculously tight_ white cloth. The corset clung to Isabela like a second skin, practically painted on if not for the visible swells of plush skin rising about the edges where her body all but strained to be free.

Hawke’s finger was actually pressed against that soft skin, the padding far more than she had anticipated. Thanks to the cinch of the corset, Isabela’s waist was still trim, but her hips flared out in an unexpectedly dramatic curve, and the thigh wrapped so eagerly around Kevan’s waist was…downright plump.

She pulled back, shaking her head. It _had_ to be a trick of the light, or the angle, or the booze. No way had Isabela’s thighs, hips, gotten bigger since sashaying upstairs.

Isabela met her eyes with a husky moan, hips rolling upwards. She didn’t respond to the teasing, too lost in sensation. That wasn’t much like her, either. Isabela loved to slap and tickle and roll around—she wasn’t one to take sex very seriously. But right now, sprawled out beneath Kevan’s broad bulk, head tipped back and body writhing in intense interest, she looked almost out of her mind with pleasure.

…huh. _Huh._

Hawke gave Kevan’s arse a sharp slap. “Climb off and give me a ride, won’t you?” she said.

He looked over at her, expression dazed, eyes hugely dilated, but he nodded after a moment and began to pull away. Isabela moaned, clawing for him, but Kevan simple caught her hands and sucked on her fingers until she fell into a boneless, gasping sprawl. His meaty muscles rippled as he pulled back, visible erection tenting his loose trousers. Hawke was distracted for a moment by the sight. He was certainly a specimen—she could see why Isabela had been so drawn to him. Tall and broad-shouldered and _big_ , with muscles that were just enough to make her sweat while not being _too_ uncomfortably defined.

Actually, she realized as she reached out to run a hand down his chest, he had a decent amount of meat on his bones, too, in addition to the muscle. It was just enough to make him…yeah, well, _meaty_ , with a bit of give to his chest and tummy. No washerboard here (though a part of her could almost swear she’d seen abs winking at her as he stood to go upstairs), but rather the ghost of abs past.

The thought made her laugh even as she leaned in to kiss him, thrusting her tongue past his swollen lips and fishing for deeper heat.

He groaned—Hawke groaned—Isabela groaned—and caught her short black hair in one big fist. He tilted her head hard, trying to take control of the kiss as it deepened, but Hawke reached up to pinch his nipples until he softened the assault, letting _her_ take over.

_That’s right_ , she thought, dominating his mouth, his body, climbing over her own supine lover to rub her skinny leather-clad frame against his. The ridge of his erection bumping along her rogue’s gear made her moan all the louder. _I’m the bitch in charge here_.

Kevan didn’t seem to mind at all.

In fact, he melted under her assault, willingly giving up control, submitting as Hawke kissed him and kissed him and kissed him, the wet slick of their tongues underscored by Isabela’s increasingly loud panting and moaning and…creaking?

Hawke finally broke the kiss, dizzy, and spared a look for her lover. Isabela was still sprawled across the mattress, dark hair fanning around her fetchingly. Her lips were parted on quick, uneven breaths, and her hips were all but writhing back against the mattress, as if the sight of Hawke and the handsome whore kissing were the hottest thing she’d ever seen.

Also? She was nearly exploding from her increasingly too-tight corset.

“Whoa!” Hawke said, startled. She pushed Kevan back and turned her full attention on Isabela, kneeling over her lover as she stared down. The boning of the white corset was distorted, pushed out as if by ill-fitted flesh. The white laces that ran up the front creaked and strained, spreading with each husking breath. Flashes of dark flesh were visible where the corset pulled apart, pushing up through the gaps as if Isabela were bloating right before their eyes.

_Allergic reaction. Poison. Something_ , Hawke thought, stunned. ‘Bela’s face was swollen too, her cheeks rounder than they’d been just a few minutes before, her jawline a little less distinct. Her arms seemed almost chunky, and her breasts—

Isabela sucked in a desperate breath and her huge breasts literally tumbled free of the constricting corset, too big to be contained any longer.

_Fuck me, what the fuck_. Hawke shook herself hard, pushing past the strange haze of lust that kept wanting to take over and reaching for one of the ever-present knives strapped to her hip. She flashed it free, digging her fingers into the cord of the straining corset, and just barely being able to squeeze in enough to lift it free of flesh. “It’s okay, ‘Bela,” she promised, flashing the knife to cut her free. One, two, three, the cut cords snapping back until at last Isabela was free. Her corset cracked open around her like a broken shell, and all that soft _flesh_ spread out—rising dough-like from it had been so cruelly restrained.

Isabela squeezed her eyes shut, one (swollen?) hand covering her heart as she sucked in grateful breaths. Hawke tossed her knife aside and pushed open the ends of the corset, giving her lover room. She was naked and gorgeous from the hips up and mid-thigh down, the only thing left to cover her being the necklaces—both gold and the new ruby red—and a tiny scrap of black fabric digging in to cushioned hips.

Hawke sat back on her heels, studying her lover as her breathing began to normalize. Whatever allergic reaction she was having, its sole impact appeared to be on swelling her flesh. Maker, even ‘Bela’s soft little tummy was affected, expanded out into what could only be called a pot. Hawke reached down tentatively, not wanting to hurt her lover, and cupped the roll of flesh by ‘Bela’s side. She prodded it gently, gave it a bit of a jiggle, and watched as it and her belly wobbled in response.

“What are you doing, Hawke?” ‘Bela asked, voice still sex-husky. She rose up onto her elbows, the faintest hint of a double chin flashing.

Hawke had no way of answering that. Thankfully, Kevan—nearly forgotten in her panic—wasn’t so tongue-tied. “Wow,” he said. “That’s some corset. I had no idea you were that fat.”

Isabela scoffed at him, pushing herself up onto her knees to face them. Her unbound breasts (definitely at least a size or two bigger than Hawke remembered) tumbled forward and her potbelly rippled with the movement. Her thighs were perilously close to brushing, and the sight should have freaked Hawke out, but somehow, instead, she just found herself wanting to suck dark marks against all that flesh. “What are you talking about?” ‘Bela snapped. “Do I look fat to you?”

_You do_ , Hawke thought, amazed, moving around the edge of the mattress to kneel behind her lover. She reached up and around her, cupping those big breasts, drawing them close together.

Isabela hummed in pleasure, listing back against her. She reached to hook her thumbs into Hawke’s tightening belt, bracing herself as she spread her thick thighs wide. “Do I _feel_ fat to you?” she murmured, daring Kevan to touch.

He gave a moan in answer, diving in to rip the black scrap off Isabela’s lush body. She shivered as he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the soft swell of her belly before sliding down to tongue the crease of her sex. Isabela let her head fall back against Hawke’s shoulder, shivering, giving a little buck, as Kevan set himself to tonguing her clit. Hawke watched it all, kneading her breasts, amazed at the way they overflowed her hands—spilling around clever fingers as Isabela gasped and writhed.

She was glorious like this. An ancient goddess before even the Maker’s time, each panting breath seeming to fill her with more energy, more desire, more _heft_. Hawke knew she had to be seriously drunk, or drugged, or worse to be seeing the things she was seeing—and even more, to be getting so _excited_ by them, a damp pressure growing between her own thighs as she squeezed her plumpening lover and watched the golden-haired prostitute service her softening flesh.

“Oh,” Isabela moaned, letting one hand go to grab a fist-full of his hair. She clung tight, dragging his face even closer to her. “Oh, yes, that’s it. Right there.” Her soft little pot seemed to grow with each word, subtly spanning out—and out—and out. It was almost like watching a moon going full in fast-forward, Isabela’s soft tummy swelling round with each heated moment that passed, as if she were growing fat off her own lust.

Hawke bit her lover’s plump shoulder and bucked up against her heavy backside, feeling her own little belly (where there had never been anything but near skin and bones) push against the widening arse.

Even Kevan didn’t seem immune. From this angle, Hawke could see the way his meaty sides had started to slowly curve and spill over the edges of his once-loose trousers, soft but obvious indentations forming. He wasn’t nearly _big_ yet, but it seemed as if he were growing right before her eyes—the energy Isabela was giving off making him swell as well.

Making him—making all of them—just a little fatter with every moment that passed.


End file.
